


Butter Churn Lovin'

by Honeypop



Category: Outlander Series - Diana Gabaldon
Genre: Book Spoilers, F/M, the fiery cross spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-12
Updated: 2015-08-12
Packaged: 2018-04-14 08:38:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,752
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4557981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Honeypop/pseuds/Honeypop
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Claire's just minding her own business, churning some butter, when Jamie comes upon her and decides her wants to do a little butter churning of his own.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Butter Churn Lovin'

**Author's Note:**

> This came about following a prompt on my Outlander tumblr blog from Lenaguffi, who wanted some further deets about a scenario Jamie describes in The Fiery Cross, when he is confessing to a priest:
> 
> “Och, aye. Well, the worst was likely the time wi’ the butter churn.”
> 
> “Butter churn? Ah … the sort with the handle pokin’ up?” Father Kenneth’s tone encompassed a sad compassion for the lewd possibilities suggested by this.
> 
> “Oh, no, Father; it was a barrel churn. The sort that lies on its side, aye, with a wee handle to turn it? Well, it’s only that she was workin’ the churn with great vigor, and the laces of her bodice undone, so that her breasts wobbled to and fro, and the cloth clinging to her with the sweat of her work. Now, the churn was just the right height—and curved, aye?—so as make me think of bendin’ her across it and lifting her skirts, and—”
> 
> My mouth opened involuntarily in shock. That was my bodice he was describing, my breasts, and my butter churn! To say nothing of my skirts. I remembered that particular occasion quite vividly, and if it had started with an impure thought, it certainly hadn’t stopped there.”
> 
> So, of course I obliged with a bit of smut!
> 
> All rights belong to Diana Gabaldon. I am truly sorry if I offend you with my dirty butter churn fic, Diana. I love your books and your collection of sassy capes and ponchos.

The muscle in my upper arm began to burn, and I stopped to rest for a moment. I straightened up and took a couple of deep breaths, running the back of my hand across my damp brow. I started as I suddenly spotted Jamie leaning against the wall near the door, his arms crossed. I’d thought myself alone, and being as focused as I was on the job at hand, I hadn’t even noticed him come in.

“We’re you calling me? I didn’t hear.”

“No,” Jamie said. “I wasn’t calling ye.”

I felt a bead of sweat trickle down the back of my neck, and made a vain effort to right myself by sweeping my forearm over the side of my flushed face, a completely pointless thing to do, since I could only imagine what a mess I looked in that moment. I plucked at my damp curls with my fingers, trying to tuck the stray coils away. It was incredibly stupid to feel so self-conscious in front my own husband, a man who had seen me looking at my very worst, but somehow I couldn’t help myself, given the directness of his gaze on me.

“Ye needn’t be concerned for your appearance on my account, Sassenach.”

His voice was deep and a little hoarse. He had a certain look in his eye, one which I was extremely familiar with. I became suddenly very aware of my body, the way my breasts were spilling out over my loosened corset, the skin of my chest and shoulders exposed and glistening with the sweat of my work.

“How long have you been standing there watching me?”

“Oh, not long,” Jamie said, his mouth twitching upwards in a quick smile. “Though, long enough to have been imagining a number of verra wicked things, involving you and that butter churn of yours.”

I looked at the big wooden barrel with it’s metal crank handle, my brow creased in thought. Perhaps the amount of effort I had to put in to work the damn thing and get it to produce any results had left me less than enamoured with it; I was struggling to imagine anything more wicked than kicking it. I looked at Jamie, and then back at the churn, jerking a thumb at it.

“This?”

He didn’t answer, but instead slowly stalked towards me. A chill ran up my spine as his fingers lightly brushed up my arm. He came and stood behind me, and I felt his large hand grip the skirts at my waist, bunching up the material in his fist. I could feel the power in his grasp, the tension in his body.

“Good God, Sassenach.” I felt his breath against my ear, and shivered again. “The purest, holiest man could not look upon you now with anything other than ravishment on his mind. Your cheeks all flushed and your hair all tumblin’ out of it’s pins. Watching you wiggle, bending o’er like that, breathing hard wi’ your work.” His other hand snaked around the front of my body, working it’s way down my skirts, dragging the material upwards. He pulled me back towards him at the same time, and rubbed his cheek against my ear. The light stubble rasped against my skin. “Who could resist ye?”

I smiled, a breathy laugh escaping my lips, and pressed my hand over the top of his.

“Well, I’m not sure how holy you are, but pure you’re most certainly not.”

I tried to push his hand away, but his grip on me only tightened further.

“I have wanted ye every single day of my life since the first I met you, but I swear to God, I’ve never needed to be inside ye more than I do right now.”

He pressed his weight forward, pushing me up against the barrel churn, and I could feel the urgency of his need. He rubbed himself hard against me, pinning me with his body. Now that he had me literally over a barrel and with virtually no way of escaping his firm grasp, I began to get a general idea of the direction the wicked thoughts might have been going. The palm of his right hand swept over my exposed chest and his fingers brushed against my quickening pulse. I felt the sureness of his touch at my neck, the strength held in check, the flames of passion burning just below the surface. My skin tingled with the heat of his touch, everywhere his fingers passed over me.

“Jamie.” His name came out in a breathy whisper, and my eyelids fluttered as his fingers dipped inside my shift and he took a firm grasp of my breast, which he slowly began to squeeze and release, over and over. I tried to shake myself out of my increasingly aroused stupor. We were alone for now, but were hardly ever alone for very long. “Jamie, stop.”

“No.”

The tone of his voice made clear his intentions, and that there would be no arguing with him. His thumb passed back and forth over my hardening nipple, and I gasped. The noise spurred Jamie on, his touch becoming more urgent. I heard the quiver of his breath, and felt the tension coiling in his body behind me. The thought of him letting loose the build up of energy within him had me trembling in anticipation.

His lips pressed hard against my neck, and I felt him nip me lightly with his teeth. I closed my eyes and gave in to the sensation for a moment, my lips parted, my breathing becoming more ragged. I suddenly felt glad that I was firmly sandwiched between Jamie and the butter churn, since my legs were beginning to feel distinctly wobbly.

His hand travelled lower, stroking up my bare leg beneath my skirts. He stroked over hip, thigh and buttock with a sure hand, before I felt it working it’s way between my legs. His hips pressed firmly against my bottom, moving rhythmically, as his fingers fluttered over my most sensitive and ever more aroused part. I could feel the hard length of him through the material of his breeches, and despite my previous concerns at the possibility of being caught in the act, I couldn’t help but shift my feet apart just a little further.

“Ah, well then,” Jamie whispered at my ear as he bent over me, still pressing me down. I felt and heard the smile in his voice. “I think I’m no the only one who’s burning with the wanting.”

I moaned as his middle finger pressed against the very centre of me, and the evidence of my wanting was soon very clear. After a couple of light, teasing strokes, his finger slipped easily inside me, and I pushed back against him, groaning and squirming as he pressed me back down with the weight of his body. I leaned my head back, straining, my mouth desperately searching for his, but his lips remained just below my ear, out of reach, his breathing hard and his teeth every now and then nipping at my skin, daring me to try to wriggle free.

“Jamie!” My back arched and I cried out as his fingers pressed hard against me, his touch slippery and urgent. “Jamie, please.”

“Aye, I shall give ye what ye need,” Jamie said hoarsely. “I must have ye. I canna wait.”

He began swiftly gathering up my skirts. I tried to move, but he somehow managed to keep me pinned, his handling of me becoming rougher and more frantic. Once my skirts had been gathered up above my waist, and I could feel my bare bottom exposed, he lifted me higher, so that my feet rested on the wooden stand on which the barrel churn stood. He pressed against my shoulder blade, pushing me down further over the curve of the barrel. I was breathing hard by now, and my bare breasts squished painfully against the wood. Jamie made impatient grumbling noises behind me, as he quickly fumbled with the laces of his breeches.

His hand took a firm grip of my bare buttock, massaging, his fingers digging into my skin. I heard him groan and turned to look. His eyes were filled with desire, his hair loose and wild.

“No matter how many times I see it, or have my hands on it, yer arse never fails to make me thankful I never followed my uncle Alick’s lead and became a monk.” Imagining Jamie as a man of the cloth was not easy, given our current position, but gave me an extra frisson of desire, a shiver of delight at the thought of corrupting an innocent, pure, holy version of Jamie. I wondered if he’d allow me to dress him up in robes, and hear my sinful confession. “That I might have lived and never had the pleasure of holding your fine, round arse in my hands.”

With his free hand he held and stroked himself briefly, before he leaned over me. I felt him stroke the head of his cock against me, and I sighed with pleasure at his momentary teasing, before he pushed home with a grunt.

“Christ, Claire.”

“Oh God!”

All this talk of God whilst being in the throes of passion should have made me feel like an incredibly wicked and sinful woman, but in that moment I could only think of Jamie, and the way our bodies came together, the incredible pleasure which filled me every time he moved inside me.

His firm hand on my shoulder steadied me, and while I knew I might have a few scrapes and bruises later, I couldn’t help but move under him, grunting as I tested the limits of my manoeuvrability. In response, Jamie leaned further over me, taking a firm hold of my wrist, before biting my shoulder. He thrust harder and faster with his hips, and the sound of flesh against flesh filled the room. Within moments I was crying out, then biting my lip to try to contain the noise. A couple more sharp, deep thrusts and I was floating, the warmth spreading through my body, making my legs shake. I collapsed limply over the barrel, Jamie following close behind, his warm, full weight resting on my back for a moment. I felt the heaving of his chest as he breathed heavy against me.

“Sassenach?” Jamie said against my skin.

“Hmm?”

“D’ye think the butter will be alright, or will ye have to start again?”


End file.
